A single ticking clock
by AvaTheDarkLord
Summary: In which Yuuri cannot face his inner demons alone, the anxiety, the guilty, the fear of solitude. Everything is too much. Maybe it's just time to let go. Give up. Give in. But a part of him couldn't do that, not to Victor... but really...Yuuri's demons are just too great to fight alone, and that's all he is... alone, sat on the bathroom floor. Trigger warnings:Self-harm Suicide


**_A/N A/N Sorry? I'm not in a great mood so I needed to vent and It was a toss up between if I picked Hinata Shouyou or Yuuri Katsuki...in the end I asked a friend to pick an emoji between a sun and a skate, and they picked Yuuri… so… it's their fault._** **_I also asked them if I should kill the character, since I didn't tell them who they picked, and they said yes. So. :pray: it was too much._**

Yuuri wasn't the strongest person mentally by any means, he was constantly on edge, worried of what others thought, or being left alone, or failing, or disappointing and...and it was just too much sometimes. His thoughts just ran, ran unsupervised, amok, bouncing against the insides of his brain, and traveling down his spine, urging his hands to move, to pick up anything it could, anything sharp, and just...let go.

It wasn't...rare, per se, that the Japanese Skater had bad days, in fact, before Victor came into his life, pretty much every day was bad, especially the period between the end of the Grand Prix, and Victor's arrival in Japan. It was hell.

It was pretty hard to walk anywhere without spotting supportive posters for him in the finale, still left up, banners, signs, anything that had yet to be taken down, after he had a crushing defeat, last place. It hurt. A lot. No one apologized, for leaving them up, and no one really went out of their way to comfort him after his loss.

No.

They'd much happily pick up on his weight gain, and his slightly down attitude. That wasn't great. Things started to look up after Victor arrived though, the Russian Skater was his idol, and even if he occasionally picked slightly mean nicknames, Yuuri didn't mind. How could he? Someone finally had some faith in him, understood him, wanted him to succeed. Maybe that's why when he lost, came second after such a small gap to someone so much younger to him, it was too much.

Everything was.

Victor didn't seem like he was angry or anything, perhaps a tad disheartened, but still proud, and eager to make Yuuri try at least one more time, to win the Grand Prix, instead of retire, possibly even jumping into the competition himself once more. Hell, Victor had even practically moved in with Yuuri, staying in Japan with the dark haired skater and Makkachin. Still, it was is solitude that Yuuri's thoughts ran free, sometimes he just couldn't stop them. Usually when such thoughts occurred he'd skate, he'd vent his feelings while dancing upon the ice, but he couldn't today, the local rink was closed for some maintenance, and Victor wasn't around. He had nothing but four walls, and the silence in the air, save for the ticking of a clock, faintly in another room. Silence wasn't good, and loneliness wasn't great either, Yuuri had never been great with being by himself. In the past he had Vicchan, the miniature poodle being only too happy to be tugged into a hug by the skater, sitting still and quiet, as Yuuri unleashed quiet sobs into the animal's back, simply being silent comfort for the male. That couldn't happen now. Vicchan was gone and Yuuri hadn't even gone back to Japan when he found out.

 _Worthless_.

The clock still ticked, repeatedly, the noise doing nothing but antagonize the man, who was sat upon the floor, back leaning against the bathroom door, tormented by his mind.

 _Look, you're all alone. I wonder why,_ ** _fatso_** _._

Yuuri simply tugged his knees up, to his chin, resting his arms atop his knees and resting his forehead on his arms, assuming the smallest area of space he could manage.

 _That's right, you might as well disappear. You're a waste of space, what does Victor even see in you?_

Yuuri couldn't help the uneven shake of his breath, against his knees, he just needed someone, anyone, to tell him everything was okay, to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his mind, that he was perfect, and wonderful, and he should ignore every self-inflicted insult he was enduring.

 _No one is coming. No one is ever coming. You're alone. It's your fault. Everything if your fault. All those over rotations, falls, loses, everything. You only have yourself to blame for being such a disappointment, a failure… a loser._

It was maybe the last straw, Yuuri was still a little sore about coming second after he'd promised to win in front of so many people, in interviews, to other skaters and friends and fans and he'd let everyone down, he hadn't lived to what he said. Yurio had. Yurio said he would win, and he did, he rose above every challenge and he was so right, _there's only space for one Yuri._

The tears came next, uneven, shaky sobs, as Yuuri struggled to catch his breath, to breathe, to consume oxygen...he couldn't breathe, breathe…

With broken gasps, Yuuri managed to tug himself to his feet, pushing upwards and into the bathroom behind him, intending to splash his face with cold water, or down something in the medical cupboard that hung above the sink. That was probably a mistake to be fair, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror made Yuuri freeze.

 _Look at your fucking face. You're a mess fasto. Jesus I don't think I can even bare to look at you._

Yuuri, if he'd have been more relaxed, and not struggling to breathe, might have punched the mirror, however, Yuuri felt utterly dejected, and simply tugged the mirrored cupboard door open, as to not look at himself anymore, and to find something to take to calm down. That was the mistake, considering the first thing that stared back at him was the new packet of razors that Victor had bought, per Yuuri's request, the other week. It was Yuuri's packet… it wasn't as though Victor would miss them.. Or notice if one was to suddenly vanish…

 _Take it already fatso._

Yuuri took the packet in his trembling hands, trying to open the packet the best he could, while shaking, slowly managing to catch his breath, but still taking sharp, shallow inhales and shuddery exhales as he did. In the end, he did manage to open the packet, dragging out the first one his hands made contact with, and smashing the cheap plastic frame, to tug out one of the small yet sharp blades. Instantly the cold of the blade assaulted the palm of Yuuri's hand, the sharp edges lightly pricking the skin, but lacking the pressure to pierce the skin beneath it.

 _Go on. What are you waiting for? No one is coming, no one cares, there is nowhere in this world for you. You're a waste of space. A hopeless mess. Go on._

Yuuri let out another shuddery breath, and took the blade into one hand, moving to dig the metal object into the opposite forearm, onlooking in morbid fascination as the inflictions caused a sudden appearance of stark red blood, against his skin. At first, each stroke was slow, pressure behind each movement, causing deeper than normal incisions, the surrounding area to each cut slightly swollen in a raw red shade, tingling in pain. Yuuri ignored the pain, or rather, welcomed it, letting a few drops of blood drip, down onto the cream carpet underfoot.

 _You can't even do this right? You're making a mess of other things more than yourself? You're just going to cause trouble, that will be hard to wash off...seriously fatso you're such a fucking mistake._

Yuuri bit his tongue, to muffle any sounds that wanted to escape from between his lips, and before long he could taste the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Still, it wasn't enough, the voice in his head wasn't satisfied. Wasn't satisfied with the raw wounds littering Yuuri's arms, the blood that painted his forearm a deep red, bleeding much more than it should, wasn't satisfied with anything, **_anything_** Yuuri did. Nothing was right.

 _Do you even have anything to live for? Your only comfort is dead, your coach is probably humiliated you lost, you let everyone down...everyone believed in you and you didn't even get gold._

In the end, the voice would be what Yuuri liked to think was the cause, the long vertical slice into his own flesh, down the length of his lower arm. The pain was present, a screaming yet tiny voice, begging for mercy, for relief, or just recognition. Yuuri could feel it, the lightheadedness that came with the loss of blood, strength failing him, dropping to his knees, and letting the blade slip from his fingers and onto the floor below him, blood staining the carpet beneath it.

 **"** **S-Sh..** **_Shit_** **."**

Blood. There was too much of it. A part of Yuuri was internally screaming, having fucked up so badly, at giving in… giving up. Who would find him? What would that do to them? It would be Victor. He'd knock that beautiful smile off of the Russian's face, a smile he loved seeing, that made his heart skip a beat. He'd just leave behind a mess, unanswered questions and unspoken goodbyes, hell Yuuri wanted to tell him he loved him, just once more...just once…

 ** _"_** ** _V...Victor…"_**

The other side of Yuuri's mind was content, peaceful, finally able to let go, be free from worry and pain and loneliness and expectation. Everything.

 _Everything_.

Slowly but surely Yuuri stopped feeling the intense pain in his arm, or the weakness in his limbs, stopped feeling the warmth of blood under his hand, that had desperately grasped the large jagged cut, to stop the blood, once he realised what he had done, and stopped seeing the white walls in front of him. He was instead taunted by the black spots that clouded his vision, mocked him for his foolishness, for giving up and giving in, so, **so** _easily_. Everything felt cold, too cold, and dark and...alone.

 _Idiot. This is fine._

Yuuri had to disagree with himself...this...it wasn't fine… he couldn't- there was nothing he could do. He barely had the strength to lift up his head, vision mostly gone. His phone, that he sought out with his eyes, was not present. If it had been a less urgent situation, where Yuuri's brain was not in panic, and internal battles, he would have remembered that his phone was in his back pocket the whole time. Yuuri Katsuki, however, _never_ remembered this fact.

 _ **"S-sorry."**_

He never would.

Others would though. The first, would be Victor Nikiforov. The Russian Figure skater discovering the horrific scene in the doorway to their shared bathroom, crimson soaked and half dry, staining the carpet, and Yuuri... _god…_ ** _Yuuri._**

Victor hadn't his phone on him, and well, he could faintly see the small telltale bulge of a phone his the Japanese males trousers, tugging it out and calling an ambulance. The call… was later used as evidence, Victors patchy Japanese, and half choked sobs as he requested an ambulance for a man known as Yuuri Katsuki, it was evidence that helped to confirm that the figure skater had committed suicide and was long dead before the Russian returned home, and tried, desperately to locate a pulse, any sign, **_anything_** , that the man was still alive.

Victor Nikiforov found no such sign of life. He still called an ambulance.

He'd refused to believe anything. Refused to listen to anyone.

 _"_ _I'm afraid he's already dead, Sir. We did everything we could but… he'd already died from blood loss."_

 _"_ _He's gone Victor, you need to move on."_

 _"_ _Victor. What do you mean you're staying in Japan?"_

 _"_ _You're quitting skating, but you announced your return!?"_

All Victor was content with doing, was sitting down, leaning against a white bathroom door, accompanied by the silence, save for the ticking of a distant clock, and a faint stain on the carpet beside him that he couldn't completely remove no matter how much he cleaned it.

/

 _ **I needed to vent like really bad, some child was like really just AGH. I think he thought I was joking about my own disorders, maybe because I'm very unusual, I flit between overly positive and depressed so quickly and I'm not sure..I think I need a diagnostic personally, but I'm too scared. I want help but I don't want to be a bother or a dissapointment. I don't want to cause trouble for everyone when everyone else in my family is already really stressed. I don't want to make anyone worry about me but I just need someone.**_ _**Anyway, I think this child thought I was trying to make fun of people who are depressed? I wasn't but I never got to clear up that misunderstanding... and I just felt uber down because I don't really have anyone at all, all my old school friends have ignored me for months, and I hardly leave the house anymore. I don't like talking about myself anyway, but I just sat and realized I don't actually have much to live for, except the fact I'd feel guilty for making those that know me feel down if I died. I needed a distraction rather than just hurting myself, so I wrote this.**_ _**I guess writing stuff like this in such moods isn't the best idea but I felt it did actually help. I mean, I made myself cry twice (Edit: I actually cried three times, I cried while writing this,) and it took hours to write, even though its very short... I don't know. I don't feel overly better, but I just feel like going to sleep and not waking up until midday tomorrow.**_ _**But yeah. If you felt like triggered or affected or anything by this, I'm not great at comfort, my emotions don't function well, but I'm always around to talk. I can at least just talk to you about anime and distract you the best I can, from whatever's happening in your life that's bad :) It's okay.**_ _**Either way, thank you for reading.**_ _**I really like Top!Yuuri x Victor fics, so I might write one of those in the future... ;3 I only write angst or really, really minor fluff, (I'm no good with fluff) so I'l try writing smut...**_


End file.
